Babbit eBook

“Wish I could go out to Senny Doane’s
house and talk things over with him. No!
Suppose Verg Gunch saw me going in there!

“Wish I knew some really smart woman, and nice,
that would see what I’m trying to get at, and
let me talk to her and—­I wonder if Myra’s
right? Could the fellows think I’ve gone
nutty just because I’m broad-minded and liberal?
Way Verg looked at me—­”

CHAPTER XXVIII

I

Miss McGOUN came into his private office at three
in the afternoon with “Lissen, Mr. Babbitt;
there’s a Mrs. Judique on the ’phone—­wants
to see about some repairs, and the salesmen are all
out. Want to talk to her?”

“All right.”

The voice of Tanis Judique was clear and pleasant.
The black cylinder of the telephone-receiver seemed
to hold a tiny animated image of her: lustrous
eyes, delicate nose, gentle chin.

“This is Mrs. Judique. Do you remember
me? You drove me up here to the Cavendish Apartments
and helped me find such a nice flat.”

“Sure! Bet I remember! What can I
do for you?”

“Why, it’s just a little—­I
don’t know that I ought to bother you, but the
janitor doesn’t seem to be able to fix it.
You know my flat is on the top floor, and with these
autumn rains the roof is beginning to leak, and I’d
be awfully glad if—­”

“Sure! I’ll come up and take a look
at it.” Nervously, “When do you expect
to be in?”

“Why, I’m in every morning.”

“Be in this afternoon, in an hour or so?”

“Ye-es. Perhaps I could give you a cup
of tea. I think I ought to, after all your trouble.”

“Fine! I’ll run up there soon as
I can get away.”

He meditated, “Now there’s a woman that’s
got refinement, savvy, class! ‘After
all your trouble—­give you a cup of tea.’
She’d appreciate a fellow. I’m a
fool, but I’m not such a bad cuss, get to know
me. And not so much a fool as they think!”

The great strike was over, the strikers beaten.
Except that Vergil Gunch seemed less cordial, there
were no visible effects of Babbitt’s treachery
to the clan. The oppressive fear of criticism
was gone, but a diffident loneliness remained.
Now he was so exhilarated that, to prove he wasn’t,
he droned about the office for fifteen minutes, looking
at blue-prints, explaining to Miss McGoun that this
Mrs. Scott wanted more money for her house—­had
raised the asking-price—­raised it from seven
thousand to eighty-five hundred—­would Miss
McGoun be sure and put it down on the card—­Mrs.
Scott’s house—­raise. When he
had thus established himself as a person unemotional
and interested only in business, he sauntered out.
He took a particularly long time to start his car;
he kicked the tires, dusted the glass of the speedometer,
and tightened the screws holding the wind-shield spot-light.